Malfoy in the Mirror
by literati007
Summary: The Golden Trio are convinced that Malfoy is a Death Eater, so they hatch a plan to obtain proof. Unfortunately for them, the plan didn't include accidentally trapping the Slytherin into a mirror with no known way to get him out. Takes place during sixth year and is (mostly) canon compliant.
1. It's like one giant chess game

**Chapter One**

* * *

"I'm telling you," said Harry impatiently, pacing back and forth around his empty dorm room (the only other occupants being his two best friends.) "Malfoy's a Death Eater."

"But you don't know that for sure, Harry," said Hermione. "You can't just throw accusations around like that."

"I'm not 'throwing' accusations, I'm _making_ them. And besides, I haven't told anyone else my suspicions yet, just the two of you."

"Yeah, but, mate," said Ron, absently playing with the sleeves of his robe, "we've talked about this. There's no possible way that Malfoy could be a Death Eater. Evil ferret that he is, he's still too young to be recruited."

"Forget about the age thing for just a minute," said Harry, who had stopped pacing to stand in front of Hermione, perched on Neville's bed. "You weren't there when I overheard Malfoy back on the Hogwart's Express. He was bragging about a special mission from Voldemort, and how no one else had the brains nor the tenacity to carry it out. You should've seen it. All the other Slytherins in the compartment were congratulating him as if he'd won the Nobel Peace Prize, or something."

Hermione considered this. "That does sound rather sketchy," she admitted. "But, what Ron said still stands. Malfoy isn't even of age yet."

"Not to mention he could have been saying all that to impress Pansy Parkinson," said Ron. "We all know they have something going on. Maybe Malfoy thought – and rightfully so – that she'd be into that kind of thing."

Harry groaned.

Hermione could tell that he was frustrated by their response (or lack thereof) on the matter. Instead of taking his frustration out on them, however, Harry simply sank down onto his own bed, picked up a pillow, and proceeded to squeeze it (as if picturing Malfoy's head) to relieve his tension. This certainly was an improvement to his behaviour from last year. She shuddered as she recalled those instances where Harry would take his anger out on them. Though Hermione knew he hadn't been in the greatest state of mind (occlumency lessons hadn't helped in the slightest), she was glad that they could now put those days behind them.

"You forget," said Harry, in a low voice, still squeezing his pillow, "that I _know_ Voldemort. I've fought him. I've been inside that dark, twisted, mind of his. You're both so quick to dismiss the idea of Malfoy being a Death Eater because he's too young, but think about this – Voldemort doesn't care about trivial matters such as age. The only thing that matters to him is power, and he'll do absolutely anything he can to obtain it."

Hermione bit her lip. While it was true that Harry had the best insight when it came to Voldemort – front row seat, really – was he right about _this_? Could Malfoy actually be a Death Eater?

Ron didn't seem to think so.

"What would _You-Know-Who_ gain from making Malfoy a Death Eater? He can't even apparate yet. None of us can!" he said, with a weary look.

Harry wasted no time in answering. "For revenge," he said bluntly. "Think about it. Lucius Malfoy failed to retrieve the Prophecy, didn't he? No doubt Voldemort was furious about it and wants to take it out on his son. It all adds up!"

"But, how would that work?" asked Ron.

Harry sighed. Hermione watched him try to answer several ways before he finally said, "Well, I imagine Voldemort would want to punish Lucius Malfoy, and what better way to do that than going after the only Malfoy heir. By making Malfoy a Death Eater, he not only has a new minion, but serves to set an example out of anyone else who fails him. Malfoy's parents will obviously be worried about him, but, at the same time, they can't deny Voldemort's wishes. It's the ultimate _'screw you'_ to Lucius."

"It's like one giant chess game," Ron mused, looking slightly more convinced.

Harry managed a small, tired smile. "Well that's certainly one way of looking at it," he said. "Hermione, what do you think?"

Hermione tugged at Neville's bedsheets. She wasn't entirely sure what to think. A few months ago she hadn't even believed in prophecies and had dismissed them as a load of rubbish. But ever since the fiasco at the Ministry ... well, she gained a whole new perspective on Divination, that much was certain.

While Harry made some valid points, Hermione still had a hard time picturing the Slytherin as a Death Eater. Sure he made fun of Gryffindors – he was a bully. He hated Muggleborns – he was a racist. Both were known traits of Death Eaters. Hell, even his own father was a Death Eater. But that didn't necessarily make _him_ one.

"I think we need proof," she said finally. "If Malfoy really is a Death Eater, we'd have to tell Dumbledore, of course. He'd know what to do about it. But until we know for sure that Malfoy is in fact one, we're better off keeping our suspicions to ourselves."

Harry nodded, evidently relieved that his best friends (though sceptical) were on his side. "I suppose that's fair."

"And," Hermione continued loftily, "being affiliated with and being a Death Eater are two entirely different things. It's kind of like how we're not a part of the Order. We're not privy to any plans they make or information they have relating to Voldemort, yet, they're always around to protect us. If Malfoy isn't a Death Eater, then he wouldn't know of any plans."

The boys were both quiet as they mulled this over. Hermione took the opportunity to glance over at the clock on Neville's bedside table, noticing that they only had a good five minutes until their next lesson, Defence Against the Dark Arts with Snape, and her stomach sank.

"Oh no!" she cried, jumping up onto her feet and grabbing her bag. "We're going to be late to our next class!"

The response was immediate. Though the boys made a big show of hating Snape (which Hermione didn't doubt), they were also scared of the man, something they were loath to admit. It wasn't his attitude they feared, per se, more of his constant docking of points from Gryffindor.

"Great, just great. The greasy git will have our heads if we're even a second late. Gryffindor will never win the House Cup again!" moaned Ron, as the three of them hightailed it out of the dorm, running through the Gryffindor Common Room and pushing aside anyone who dared get in their way, before sprinting through the various castle corridors until they reached their destination, wholly out of breath.

Only to find out from Neville, who had programmed his clock ahead, that they were in fact ten minutes early.

* * *

Severus was in a foul mood (more so than usual, anyway).

It was only the second day of term, and he'd already felt as if he'd been through hell and back.

He'd awoken early that morning, intending to have a word with Draco about the Dark Lord's latest scheme. Severus had the entire conversation mapped out in his mind. First, he would nod his head at every point Draco raised, making it seem as though he was fully invested in what he had to say, all the while listening closely for any exclusive information he could report back to Dumbledore, and then, he would offer the boy some tea. Of course, he had planned to lace the tea with a little Felix Felicis to calm the boy's nerves, and make him feel better about himself. Severus would then criticise Draco's plan, tearing it to shreds before him, and prompting Draco to try other ways, each time setting him up for disaster (the ultimate Slytherin way to stall a plan), so that in the end, the boy would run out of time. That way, he wouldn't have to murder the Headmaster, and Severus would do it for him (as Dumbledore had planned), leaving Draco's soul untarnished.

It would be easy, he thought. The boy did look up to him, after all.

In spite of all this, the younger Slytherin was nowhere to be found (Severus had checked the Common Room, the Great Hall, and had even asked his friends), and it became clear that this was no longer the case.

The little dunderhead was avoiding him.

Severus left the staff room, his mouth set in a hard line, as he walked along the Entrance Hall, on his way to teach his first class of the year. He knew that Draco would be in this class, and resolved to work harder to impress the boy and gain back his trust. _And what better way to do that than by humiliating Potter_ , he thought nastily. _It'll be like killing two birds with one stone_.

He arrived a half hour early to set up the classroom. This particular lesson he was to deliver was one of his favourites, non-verbal spells. He was aware the current sixth years were complete novices at this, and as much as he liked to belittle them every so often, Severus knew that each and every one of them were more than capable of casting it. Even Longbottom.

Once he had finished putting up the gruesome pictures and adding a few personal touches (he found that darkness heightened his intimidation factor), he propped open the door and stepped out into the corridor, and as expected, silence washed over the students. Severus took this opportunity to survey each one, his dark eyes roamed until they settled onto the Gryffindor trio, all of whom appeared oddly flushed. Granger's hair was bushier than usual, Weasley was glaring at Longbottom, who stood sheepishly in the corner, and Potter was casting not-so-discreet glances at Draco when he thought no one was looking. Severus resisted the urge to roll his eyes. If those waste-of-time Occlumency lessons had taught him one thing, it was that Potter would never master the art of subtility, even if it punched him in the face.

Choosing to overlook this and chalking it up to be their usual Gryffindor antics, his eyes flickered over to where Draco stood, oblivious to Potter's wary glances, whispering intently to Crabbe and Goyle, all the while avoiding any form of eye contact with his Head of House.

Severus sighed. This was going to be a long year.

"Inside," he ordered, watching the students scramble into the classroom.

After a short lecture, followed by a couple of questions (from Granger, naturally), the class split into pairs to work on casting non-verbal spells. Severus stalked around the room, keeping an eye out for any foolish behaviour as they practised. It hadn't escaped his notice how much cheating was going on; several people were whispering the incantation rather than silently, as he had ordered. He chose to ignore this, however, for it was mostly his Slytherins' doing, and he couldn't afford to get on their bad side right now, considering he had to regain Draco's trust.

The only person who had successfully managed to cast a non-verbal was, unsurprisingly, Granger, whose efforts went unrewarded as Severus acted as though he hadn't witnessed it. He felt the furious stares radiating from the Gryffindors, particularly from Potter and Weasley, and, with a calculating smile, swept towards them to spectate their attempts.

After a while of watching them struggle, Severus grew impatient of their incompetence and instructed Weasley to stand aside. He turned his wand on Potter and before he could muster a quick, non-verbal spell, Potter had already yelled, ' _Protego_ ', which (to his surprise) was so powerful, that it had knocked him against a desk.

Severus got up and brushed off his robes, scowling. Potter was more powerful than he had initially considered, he had clearly underestimated the boy, he mused.

"Do you remember me telling you we are practising _non-verbal_ spells, Potter?"

Potter had the cheek to look uninterested. "Yes."

"Yes, _sir,_ " he said, correcting him. The boy clearly had no respect for authority, he noted.

"There's no need to call me "sir", Professor."

The room filled with gasps and the occasional snickers (mostly from Gryffindors), and Severus felt the overwhelming urge to throttle Potter there and then, but refrained from doing so. His job was to protect the boy, not kill him, and he was fairly certain the Headmaster wouldn't approve of such measures. Instead, he stared the boy down, gazing into those once familiar green eyes.

"Detention, Saturday night, my office," he said. "I do not take cheek from anyone, Potter ... not even the _Chosen One_." As he had anticipated, Potter had appeared unsettled by the title.

Eventually, class was dismissed and Weasley and Granger scurried over to Potter, the three of them whispering conspiratorially amongst themselves. Although he had no desire to eavesdrop, Severus couldn't help but overhear certain words, such as _ferret_ , _Borgin and Burkes_ , _map_ , _Dumbledore_ , and _treacle tart_. He was certain that they all linked together somehow (except for the last one, Weasley was clearly just hungry). His eyes narrowed in suspicion, convinced that they were up to something, and watched as the trio left the classroom.

The moment they were gone, Severus swore that he would get to the bottom of whatever it was they were cooking up.

* * *

 **A/N: Hi everyone, thanks so much for reading! This is my first ever fanfiction I've written, so my writing may be all over the place. Feel free to leave any constructive criticism, and I'll take it on board. Have a great day! :)**


	2. How to catch a ferret

**Chapter Two**

* * *

Potions hadn't been particularly eventful for Ron, who admittedly had been close to dozing off. While the whole class had busied themselves with frantic attempts of concocting the perfect Draught of Living Death, Harry and Hermione included, Ron was lost in his own thoughts.

For the past week and a half, Harry had insisted on keeping an eye out for anything remotely suspicious, which included many late nights spent in the common room studying the Marauder's map almost religiously. They hadn't made much progress – all they'd discovered so far was that Malfoy enjoyed midnight walks around the castle, and apparently, this was proof enough for Harry. He was so convinced the Slytherin was up to something that he would refuse to believe otherwise, even when Hermione had suggested the blond may simply have suffered from insomnia.

Ron sighed. It seemed once his best friend had made his mind up about something there was no going back, and until they got their hands on actual, physical evidence, they'd be stuck listening to Harry's paranoia-induced theories forever.

"Ron," said Hermione, elbowing the boy hard and consequently snapping him out of his reverie. "You really should be focusing on your potion."

Ron stared down at his creation. It couldn't be any further off from what Slughorn had wanted. It was a murky brown colour when it should have been a pale pink, like Harry's.

"Add some Murtlap leaves," she instructed, eyeing Ron's potion with a look of disbelief before anxiously returning to her own. It seemed he was the only student not bothered about winning the small bottle of Felix Felicis that Slughorn had promised.

With a sigh, Ron pushed himself up from the table and made his way to the student cupboard, passing by the four large cauldrons Slughorn had used for his earlier demonstration. Humming softly to himself (Dean had gotten this muggle tune stuck in his head for hours), Ron had made to enter the cupboard when out of nowhere, someone had aggressively barged into him from behind. Having lost his balance from the sudden impact, he found himself on the stone cold dungeon floor. Frowning, he looked up to see Malfoy towering over him with a smug grin. _Speak of the devil_. "Watch where you're going, Weasley," the blond said haughtily.

Narrowing his eyes, Ron was about to grumble something (offensive) back but stopped when something had caught his attention. It was the third cauldron, with its mud-like substance glistening inside. Recognising it as Polyjuice potion, Ron stared at the slow-bubbling concoction carefully, and then at Malfoy, and suddenly, inspiration struck.

"Sorry," he said mildly before getting back onto his feet, brushing himself off and walking away, leaving Malfoy behind, confused.

.

.

"You want us to… _what_?" Hermione's bewildered voice rang out in the empty common room that night, and Ron forbore the urge to roll his eyes. He couldn't understand why she was having a hard time grasping his plan, when it was, in fact, quite straight-forward.

"I _said_ we should use the Polyjuice Potion, like we did in second year, to get answers out of Malfoy," he repeated, for what felt like the umpteenth time. "If it worked then, it should work now." He turned his head and regarded Harry, who had been watching the entire exchange while munching on a cauldron cake. "You agree with me, don't you, Harry?"

Harry swallowed his bite before answering, "Of course I do. I think it's a brilliant idea."

Ron grinned appreciatively while Hermione scoffed in indignation. "Maybe I'm just being silly, but I seem to recall the two of you initially disliking the idea when _I_ first suggested it in second year," she pointed out, folding her arms across her chest.

Harry shrugged. "That was before we succeeded."

Hermione glared at him.

"So all we need to do is to trick Crabbe and Goyle like we did last time, knock them out, pluck their hair and steal their robes," he continued, unfazed by Hermione's incessant scowling.

Ron nodded. "Pretty much," he confirmed, then chuckled as he stared at his bushy haired friend. "Who will you be this time? Not another cat, I hope."

Her scowl deepened as she huffed, "I think I'll be Pansy Parkinson, thank you very much."

Harry and Ron exchanged amused glances.

"So … a _pug_ then."

Hermione leaned over her chair and smacked Ron on the arm.

"Ouch – that hurt!"

"You're an idiot."

Harry rolled his eyes. "If you two are quite done, I would very much appreciate it."

Hermione resumed her position while Ron rubbed his sore arm. "As I was saying," she cleared her throat. "I'll be Pansy Parkinson. As Malfoy's girlfriend, I expect he'd tell her loads of information. Much more than Crabbe and Goyle, anyway."

"I suppose that's true. It helps that they're so stupid. We could ask the ferret to repeat anything he may have told them and he wouldn't even suspect a thing. Honestly, those two could give Dumb and Dumber a run for their money," remarked Harry, causing Hermione to giggle.

" _Dumb and Dumber_?" asked Ron with a puzzled expression. Harry waved him off. "It's a muggle movie that came out almost two years ago," he explained. "But that's not important right now. What we need is to plan out how we're going to make the potion. As I recall, it took over a month to make last time."

Hermione smiled, pleased that someone other than herself had actually paid attention. "Well, we could use Myrtle's bathroom. She was awfully fond of you, Harry, that she'd probably allow us to share it with her again."

Ron watched as Harry blushed, evidently flustered by the idea. He decided to step in and save his friend from reacquainting himself with the overly-sensitive, somewhat-perverted ghost.

"There's really no need, especially since we don't have to brew anything. From what I've seen earlier today, Slughorn has a whole cauldron filled with Polyjuice potion."

While Harry appeared relieved, Hermione's eyes grew wide with what Ron could only assume was her _must-not-break-rules-as-a-prefect_ gaze.

"You want us to _steal_ from a teacher?" she squeaked.

Ron scoffed, "Why not? You're a Gryffindor, aren't you? Besides, it's not as if you haven't done it before."

"Yeah but that – that was different!" cried Hermione.

"Different how?" asked Harry. "Last time you stole from Snape. This time you'll be stealing from Slughorn, who's not only nicer but also forgetful, so he probably won't even realise anything was taken."

"And even if he does realise, we'll be the _last_ people he'd suspect," he added reassuringly at the doe-eyed expression on Hermione's face.

Hermione paused as she silently reflected on this. "Fine," she grumbled after a while, though she didn't seem entirely convinced. "But only if I get to plan it."

"Sure thing," said Ron with a smile.

"It'll be harder, much harder than last time. Especially since we're not twelve anymore and the naivety has worn off," Hermione said thoughtfully. "While Crabbe and Goyle should be easy to handle I reckon Pansy Parkinson would put up a fight."

"So we immobilise her," said Harry. "A quick _Petrificus_ _Totalus_ should do it."

Hermione frowned. "But she'll still be able to see and hear everything around her. She'll know it was us."

"Not unless we use the cloak," suggested Ron. "If that's OK with you, Harry." Harry nodded. "Of course it is."

"Right," continued Ron, "then after we knock her out – under the cloak, of course – we can blindfold her and pour some Sleeping Draught down her throat."

Hermione remained unmoved. She took a deep breath, as if she couldn't believe what she was about to say, "I think we should ask Fred and George for some ideas. I'm sure they have something in that shop of theirs that can help us out."

There was a slight pause. Harry and Ron stared in utter bewilderment at their bushy haired, rule-abiding best friend, completely taken aback by her suggestion.

"You want to go to _Fred and George_ for help? I thought you found their products a waste of time," asked Harry, amused.

"I admit I may have thought that at first," she confessed sheepishly. "But some of their products are down-right genius. Like their Instant Darkness Powder, do you know how handy that could be?

Ron continued to gape. "I wish the twins heard you say that. Being praised by _the_ Hermione Granger, brightest witch of our age. They'd make an entire line of products in your honour. "

Blushing profusely, Hermione said, "Ron, can you write them and ask if they could meet us this weekend at Hogsmeade? We can explain the whole situation to them. Well, not the whole situation - just the edited version, of course."

Summoning a parchment and quill, Ron got to work writing the letter. Once he had finished (Hermione had proof read and corrected his grammar along the way), he turned to his friends. "I'll take this to the Owlery first thing tomorrow morning," he promised.

"You can use Hedwig, if you want. He's much faster than Pig," offered Harry, to which Ron agreed.

"Right, now that we've gotten that sorted," said Hermione, summoning some parchment of her own, she tapped it twice with her wand. "I've charmed it so that only we can read what's on here," she explained. "To anyone else it's a detention note from Snape, highlighting the various ways he'll make the student clean the cauldrons."

At the bemused glances sent her way, she continued, "He's been our potions teacher for years, his handwriting is _so_ easy to forge. Besides, anyone who accidentally comes across this parchment and sees this note would immediately drop it out of fear."

"Uh huh," said Ron, sounding unconvinced, though deep down he knew that if it were him who had stumbled across the note, he'd do exactly as Hermione had predicted.

Hermione ignored him as she began to scribble down some ideas onto the parchment. "Phase One: Steal the Polyjuice Potion from Slughorn's office," she read aloud. "Phase Two, anyone?"

"Phase Two: Trick Crabbe and Goyle with some sweets, promptly nick a strand or two from their hair and draw moustaches on their faces as they sleep," Ron said, snickering, as Hermione jotted every word (barring the last part) down.

"We'll add Pansy's part once we've gotten some ideas from the twins," she said. "And finally, Phase Three – Harry?"

"Hmm... how about, Phase Three: down the potion, masquerade as Malfoy's friends and interrogate the ferret until he sings like a canary," said Harry, flashing a grin and prompting his friends to laugh along.

"As for the title, I think we should call it: _How to catch a ferret_."

* * *

.

Draco scowled into his porridge the next morning, doing a rather accurate impression of his Head of House as he took an angry bite.

"What's gotten your knickers in a twist?" asked Blaise as he slid into the opposite seat. "It's the porridge, isn't it? I've always said it – countless of times now – that they should add more flavours, but _nooo_ , it has to be blueberry just because the Headmaster likes it. _Stupid_ _Gryffindors_ ," he said, lifting his chin up in indignation.

Draco, who was fairly used to Blaise's unprovoked, over-the-top rants, dropped his spoon and sighed.

"No, Blaise. For the last time, I don't give a crap about the stupid porridge here!" he snapped at his friend. "Not when I've got loads of other things on my mind."

Though he looked offended at first, Blaise's expression eventually softened. "It's getting to you, huh? I thought you said it was some kind of privilege to serve _him_."

"It is," Draco said quickly, though he wasn't so sure anymore.

"Then why do you look so stressed?" asked Blaise, smearing jam onto his toast. "The way I see it, if you're truly happy to serve him, you wouldn't be looking like this." He directed his pointer finger at Draco, "You look like shit."

"Thanks," Draco scoffed, before shoving another spoonful of porridge into his mouth, signalling the end of the conversation. He really didn't feel like talking to anyone at the moment, afraid that if he did, they'd see right through him as Blaise had just done.

Ever since Draco had been given the Dark Mark, he'd noticed how differently people treated him. Pansy had started parading him around more often, Crabbe and Goyle were more obedient than ever (which in itself spoke volumes) and every time he had so much as stepped foot into the Slytherin common room, people would drop whatever it was that they were doing to gawk at him. It was as if someone had suddenly thrust him into the spotlight, and for the first time in his life, the attention was unwanted.

As he drank his pumpkin juice, he felt a pair of eyes burning into his skull and knew immediately who it was.

"Blaise, is Professor Snape, by any chance, looking this way?" he asked, in what he hoped was an innocent voice.

Blaise scanned the High Table. "Yeah, in fact he's headed towards us. Why?"

"Damn," said Draco under his breath, before refocusing his attention onto Blaise. "No reason."

Blaise eyed him suspiciously. " _Okay_?"

It seemed his friend was more perceptive than he had initially figured. _Crap_. Grabbing an apple, he quickly got up from the table. "Look, Blaise, I've gotta go but I'll catch you later, yeah?"

"Sure?"

And with that, Draco hastily sped away from the Great Hall as fast as his legs could carry him, not stopping until he reached the end of the Entrance Hall. He sneaked a peek over his shoulder to see Professor Snape emerging from the crowd, sour-faced, his eyes darting around furiously, and Draco had no doubt in his mind that it was he whom Professor Snape was looking for.

Their eyes met briefly, but it was enough to give Draco a jump start for he continued running down the corridor, accidentally dropping his apple along the way. Another glance over his shoulder showed Professor Snape gaining on him, but not before Longbottom (who came out of nowhere) tripped over the apple, lost his footing and grabbed onto the closest thing (which, unfortunately for him, was Professor Snape), causing the two of them to fall onto the ground, like a stack of dominoes.

Laughter emerged from the other students who had stopped to watch, and Draco used this opportunity to get away, unnoticed. He thanked his lucky stars that Longbottom was such a klutz and resolved to treat the boy a little nicer in the future. Maybe he wouldn't trip him up every so often or steal his frog when he was bored.

Draco paused and leaned his head back against one of the castle statues. It was getting harder to avoid Professor Snape. It seemed the sullen Professor had made it his personal duty to try and talk Draco out of his mission, obviously wanting all the glory to himself. At least, that's what his father had told him when he had visited him at Azkaban that summer. He sighed, unsure of what to believe anymore. His resolve was slowly crumbling and he didn't know what to do about it.

Until he knew for sure how he was going to complete this impossible mission of his, he'd continue to fix the Vanishing Cabinet in the Room of Requirement as planned in order to sneak his fellow Death Eaters into the castle.

And in the meanwhile, he'd stay far away from Professor Snape, he decided. If he wasn't his Head of House, Draco may have seriously considered a restraining order against the man.

* * *

 **A/N: As you can probably tell I've messed about with the trio's potions lessons, so the first ever potion lesson they had in book 6 canon has occurred a week later. Nonetheless I hope you enjoyed this chapter!**


	3. He's a natural, just like his mother!

**Chapter Three**

* * *

It hadn't even been a second since Harry had taken a seat at the long Gryffindor table in the Great Hall when he was accosted by a rather determined, bushy-haired, know-it-all.

Harry's stomach clenched in preparation for the onslaught of lectures he expected Hermione to throw his way. After his persistent refusal to return the Half-Blood Prince's copy of _Advanced Potion Making_ , Hermione had taken it upon herself to convince Harry otherwise, with her endless nagging and brutal glares (which were ineffective at best). Her constant scowling didn't help her case, either. During afternoon Potion lessons, a permanent frown seemed to be etched onto Hermione's face each time Professor Slughorn complimented Harry, making obvious her contempt towards his 'blatant attempts of cheating'. Instead of dissuading him, however, Harry was keener than ever to keep the battered book, especially after Slughorn's latest compliment – _'he's a natural, just like his mother!'_ – though Harry knew his real potion skills were anything but natural.

So it was to his surprise (and relief) that Hermione didn't broach the subject. Instead he watched curiously as she cast her eyes across the hall, conspicuously taking in their surroundings before she finally sighed in relief and slumped into the seat across from him.

"We have to steal the Polyjuice potion from Slughorn's office tonight," announced Hermione, in place of her usual morning greeting. Her tone was light and airy and not at all concerned about anyone trying to listen in, for the Great Hall remained relatively empty. Harry absently questioned where most of the students (and teachers) had disappeared to before Hermione's words finally registered.

"Why tonight?" he asked, genuinely curious. He wondered why Hermione, who was reluctant to even go through with the plan in the first place, had suddenly changed her mind and was seemingly eager to set things into motion.

Leaning forward in interest, Harry offered his friend his full, undivided attention.

"During my prefect patrol last night, I overheard some seventh year Slytherins talking about Malfoy," said Hermione, scrunching her eyebrows in concentration as she tried to recall the conversation. "Well, I only heard the titbits, but they did talk quite a bit about his dad, and how lucky Malfoy was to be ... chosen."

At the last part, Harry immediately straightened up in his seat, his mind ringing with alarm bells as he was struck by an eerie sense of déjà vu.

"Chosen," repeated Harry, turning the words over in his mind. "That lines up with what I heard on the Hogwarts Express!"

Hermione sipped her pumpkin juice before nodding. "I've been up all night thinking about it and – you were right, Harry. The day you told us Malfoy was a Death Eater … I should have believed you. Clearly Malfoy's up to something that the Slytherins all know about. I mean, why else would they talk about him all the time – aside from the fact that his father is in Azkaban? He may not be ' _The Chosen One_ ' like you are, but he's definitely _chosen_ in a different way – the question is for what exactly?

There was a slight pause as they both contemplated the answer.

"I don't know, but we'll find out," said Harry finally, feeling more determined than ever.

As he ate his toast (while deliberating the many ways in which to expose Malfoy and hand him over to Dumbledore), the Great Hall started to slowly fill up with students and teachers alike, ready to eat their breakfast. Ron and Ginny were amongst the crowd, wearing identical grins and looking remarkably like their older twin brothers.

Hermione regarded the siblings with a questioning look. "What's so funny?"

"You won't believe it!" said Ron, howling with laughter as he clutched his sides. "Oh, you just had to be there! Tell them, Gin."

Ginny smirked, and Harry ignored the butterfly-like sensation that arose in his stomach at the sight.

"I won't say much, but let's just say it involves Snape, Neville and an apple."

.

.

After a trying day of boring lessons, Quidditch tryouts couldn't come fast enough, and as Harry was made captain this year, he was more excited than ever to take part.

Interestingly enough half the Gryffindor house seemed to have turned up and so tryouts took longer than expected, though Harry was pleased with the outcome. Naturally Katie Bell had been welcomed back onto the team, along with three new finds, while Ginny had been selected as a Chaser (she had scored seventeen goals to boot and Harry had never been more impressed). Ron had been made Keeper, an impressive feat considering his lacklustre performance from last year, and although Harry knew Ron had managed to block all the goals with his own, natural talent, he suspected Hermione had something to do with McLaggen's poor performance, his suspicions were only confirmed when she had turned a deep shade of pink when the boy in question had stumbled past with a dazed look on his face.

After Ron had finished recapping his entire performance (some parts were slightly exaggerated, per usual), Harry and Hermione had filled him in on their new plan, which had excited the redhead even more.

"First I got to beat McLaggen and now I get to steal from Slughorn," said Ron in a highly satisfied voice. "Could this day get any better?"

Harry laughed as the trio headed off towards Hagrid's hut. It had been a while since they had seen the half-giant. In between their enormous workload, frantic hours of practising non-verbal spells and conspiring against Malfoy, Harry, Ron and Hermione had barely had a moment to themselves, so seeing as they were free now, they decided it was a good time as any to pay their old friend a visit.

Things were slightly tense when they first arrived, though that quickly resolved once they had convinced Hagrid that they did respect him as teacher despite opting out of his class, and just like that, all was well again.

Hagrid had made them all tea as they sat around his enormous wooden table, with Fang resting upon Harry's knee.

"Help yeh'selves to some rock cakes, will yeh?" said Hagrid, pushing a plate of his home baked goods toward them. Harry normally resisted the urge to take one – Hagrid's baking was questionable at best – but today he was feeling rather peckish and so took a handful at once. He immediately regretted his decision once he took a bite – the cake was as hard as a hockey puck that it had almost taken out his entire front teeth – and so, when Hagrid wasn't looking, Harry fed some to Fang and shoved the remainder into his robe pocket.

"Hagrid?" said Hermione, clutching the handle of her tea cup in a delicate manner. "I was wondering if we could ask you something."

"Of course yeh can," replied Hagrid.

"Well," Hermione began nervously, "I was just wondering if there's any possibility that a ... Death Eater could be at Hogwarts without any one of us knowing."

Harry watched as Hagrid frowned, putting down his tea cup in a rather clumsy manner that some of the tea had spilled onto the wooden table, not that he seemed to notice, or care, as he was too preoccupied with answering Hermione's question.

"I don't know what yeh mean," said Hagrid, waving his hand in a dismissive gesture. "A Death Eater at Hogwarts? Not with Dumbledore around there won't be."

"But what if Dumbledore didn't know this person was a Death Eater?" asked Ron, glancing at Harry and Hermione. "What if it were a student? What then?"

"That's a very serious accusation," said Hagrid sternly. "Yeh can' just go around suspecting yer fellow classmates."

"If we _were_ to suspect any of our classmates, it would be the Slytherins," said Harry. "Every single one of them hate muggle-borns and support Voldemort." As he had anticipated, Hagrid had winced at the sound of Voldemort's name.

"Now yeh listen to me," said Hagrid, trying to hide his impatience. "I understand the three of yeh enjoy sleuthing around, but that has to stop now. Yeh already know the Order is taking care of things."

"But – "

"No, Hermione. No ifs, no buts. The Order is full of fully-grown, qualified wizards, which I'm afraid none of yeh are yet."

"But the Slytherins are – "

"Not all bad, Ron. Just take a look at good ol' Professor Snape," said Hagrid fondly.

Harry snorted and said, "Yeah he's _such_ a good role model. When I grow up, I aspire to be _just_ like him."

"He's not a bad person, Harry. In fact, I've never met anyone as loyal to the Order as he is. Yeh just need to give him a chance."

Harry sighed. It seemed this whole conversation was fruitless. Hagrid would refuse to believe any of the students (let alone Malfoy) was a Death Eater, and would always choose to see the best in people, including Snape. With all the adults constantly dismissing his suspicions, it appeared Harry had no other authority figures to turn to now that Sirius was gone, leaving him no choice but to take matters into his own hands.

Ignoring the sinking feeling in his stomach at the mere thought of Sirius, Harry deftly changed the topic into a much more light-hearted one. After a short while of catching up and convincing Hagrid that he was a better teacher than Professor Grubbly-Plank (which was controversial at best), the trio bade Hagrid goodbye and returned to the castle, determined now more than ever to steal the polyjuice potion, expose Malfoy and prove everyone wrong.

* * *

.

It was dinnertime in the Great Hall, and Albus was particularly looking forward to a slice of treacle tart that he had been craving all day.

It was no secret that the Headmaster had a rather severe sweet tooth, one that needed to be satisfied regularly with a various assortment of sherbet lemons, the occasional fizzing whizzbees and of course, chocolate frogs (he considered his very own card to be his greatest achievement to this day).

So upon his arrival in the Great Hall, Albus was quick to tuck into his food, savouring every last bite and saving the best (dessert) until last.

"Good evening, Headmaster," said Professor Snape, slipping into the seat beside him.

Albus paused mid-bite and gave the dour professor a nod. "Good evening, Severus. I trust you have had a wonderful day?"

Severus snorted. "Hardly," he said, helping himself to steak and potatoes. "I thought teaching Defence this year would help the dunderhead students protect themselves from the Dark Lord, but with the rate they're going, they're going to need protection from _me_."

Albus gave a hearty laugh. "Now, Severus. I'm sure they're not that bad as you make them out to be."

"You have no idea, Albus, the utter stupidity they come out with. Just the other day I had to force Potter not to whisper the incantation while performing a non-verbal spell, but the miscreant wouldn't listen. If this is the saviour of the Wizarding World, Merlin help us all!"

"Really? I was under the impression Harry was coming along rather well this year. From what I've heard from Minerva, he's been fairly adequate in Transfiguration, marvellous at Charms and absolutely excelling at Potions," said Albus, noting the surprised look on Severus's face.

"He's been excelling at potions?" repeated Severus sceptically. "I've been teaching Potter that subject for the last five years and I can assure you, the boy doesn't know his pestle from his mortar."

Albus resisted the urge to laugh. It was quite obvious to him that Severus had held a grudge against Harry, hating the boy for his father's past discretions against him, and making him out to be a carbon copy of James. What Severus failed to acknowledge, however, was that Harry also took after his mother, something that Severus should have been able to spot a mile away.

"Well, he certainly has improved since then," replied Albus, with a light chuckle. "Professor Slughorn is confident that Harry is a natural at potions, even claiming that he takes after Lily in that sense."

Severus's face fell briefly at the fleeting mention of Lily, but was quick to put his stoic mask back on in the blink of an eye. If Albus didn't know the man so well, he wouldn't have even noticed.

"That doesn't mean anything. Only that old Slughorn's been playing favourites again," said Severus bitterly, absently stabbing his steak in a forceful manner.

While Albus had silently agreed with him, he didn't state it outright, with the man in question sitting a couple of seats away. Instead, he asked, "How is Draco faring?"

Another angry jab at the steak, followed by a sigh. "He's not. Any time I try and talk to him, he manages to give me the slip. Merlin knows I'm getting too old for this."

"Well then you know how I feel," said Albus with a tired smile. "Life certainly has a unique way of reminding us mere mortals that we are not invincible. You mustn't worry yourself too much, Severus. Take a break every now and then, and if things become too much for you, have a sherbet lemon. They make everything better."

Severus simply stared at him.

"I'll keep that in mind," he said sarcastically, before returning to his meal.

A few moments later, there was a loud bang that came from the Gryffindor table, capturing everyone's attention; Albus and Severus included. Judging from the groans coming from the Gryffindors, and laughter from all the other houses, it seemed Seamus Finnigan had exploded his drinking goblet, again. Upon further inspection, Albus noted that three Gryffindors in particular was missing from the table.

Severus must have reached the same conclusion. "Where's Potter?" he grumbled.

Albus had to admit, something felt amiss. It was unlike them to miss dinner. Miss Granger, perhaps, if she was too caught up in the library, but not Harry and certainly never Mr Weasley.

"I'll go find them," said Severus promptly. "It's my turn to patrol tonight and I'm in the mood to dock as many points from Gryffindor as possible."

Albus rolled his eyes and watched the dark haired professor walk away, before finally tucking into his long-awaited treacle tart.

* * *

 **A/N - Sorry this chapter took so long! It's a bit slow but not to worry, I promise next chapter will be much better!**


	4. The Macarena signal

**Chapter Four**

* * *

The dungeons were particularly chilly that evening. Its walls were dark and grimy and its floors were stone cold. Hermione shivered, clutching her robes tightly as she stepped closer to her companions, thankful for their body heat.

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" she asked, biting her lip as she stared at the door that led to Slughorn's office.

She felt Harry shift on his foot beside her, causing the invisibility cloak that concealed the trio to flutter slightly.

"Positive," he stated confidently. "While the two of you go inside and collect the potion, I'll stay here and distract old Sluggy if he decides to stop by. I'll let you guys know when the coast is clear."

"We'll need a signal," said Ron.

"Ooo good idea. Here, let me demonstrate," said Harry, pulling them closer to the wooden door. He raised his knuckle and began to knock a steady beat, the rhythm of which sounded oddly familiar to Hermione. It took her a while to recognise it.

" _Please_ don't tell me you just knocked out the chorus of the Macarena."

"Why not? That song is iconic, and you mark my words, it will never get old," insisted Harry, causing Hermione to snort.

"Hey, I know that song! Dean got that stuck in my head the other day," said Ron, excited at finally understanding a muggle reference.

Harry turned to Hermione. "See? Even Ron knows it. _Iconic_."

Ron nodded eagerly. "It's very catchy."

"Did you know there's even a dance move to go with it? I can teach it to you, if you want."

Ron's eyes lit up at the prospect. "There is? Muggles are so inventive," he said in wonder.

Although Hermione rolled her eyes, she had to admit she found Ron's excitement very endearing. "Okay, the Macarena signal it is," she said. "Now that we've gotten that out of the way, can we please get back on track? We only have forty minutes until dinner is over."

"Please don't remind me. It's treacle tart Friday, which means I'm missing out on a slice of heavenly goodness," moaned Ron as he stepped out from under the cloak. Hermione followed suit, leaving only Harry invisible.

"Remember, only fill up three phials. If you take too much, Slughorn might notice," came Harry's voice. It was only now that Harry was invisible that Hermione realised how odd they would look if someone were to catch them.

"Yeah, yeah, we know. Just stay quiet and don't try to scare anyone just because you're invisible, like last time," said Hermione, in a warning tone. She recalled the last time Harry and Ron had spent an entire day under the cloak, scaring Terry Boot after he and Ginny had broken up. They did all kinds of things. Levitating his books. Pushing him into Slytherins. Writing on his parchment during classes. Suffice to say, the Ravenclaw was absolutely terrified, convinced that he was jinxed.

Even though she couldn't see him, Hermione was convinced Harry was smirking. "I wouldn't dare."

With a pointed glare at Harry, or at least at the direction in which she thought he stood, Hermione followed Ron over to Slughorn's door. He tugged the handle. It was locked. He lifted his wand and said, "Alohomora," and the door swung open. Together they stepped into the office, leaving Harry behind as the door clinked shut behind them.

Slughorn's office was exactly as Hermione had pictured it to be. Overly furnished. At least it wasn't pink, like Umbridge's was.

Ron let out a low whistle. "Slughorn really likes to _collect_ things, huh," he said, picking up a framed photo of the Holyhead Harpies. It was autographed by the captain of the team. "It must be nice, having all these connections." While he didn't state it outright, the message was clear. Ron was upset that Slughorn had not collected him, despite choosing Harry, Hermione and even Ginny. Hermione was aware of Ron's continuous battle with his insecurities and self-worth, and wanted to tell him that he was worth more than just a silly club. But she knew Ron would think otherwise (his constant need of approval was another insecurity of his), and so she changed the subject.

Pointing to three large cauldrons in the far left corner, she asked, "Which one contains the polyjuice potion?"

Ron put the photo away and looked up. "It's got to be the middle one."

They reached the cauldrons and Hermione tried yanking the lid open. "It's heavy."

"Allow me," said Ron, pulling out his wand. He swished and flicked just as she had taught him in first year. "Wingardium Leviosa." The lid levitated into the air and Ron pointed it to the floor, where it rested.

"Impressive," said Hermione in a teasing voice.

Ron smirked. "Well, I've had plenty of practice. That troll didn't knock itself out, you know."

Hermione laughed. That day had felt like a distant memory. So much had happened since then. It had felt like she had been pulled out of the frying pan that was her first year, and into the inferno, where she currently was.

"You've got the phials?" asked Ron, pulling her away from her thoughts.

Hermione nodded, pulling the phials and a ladle out of her pocket. Gently, she began to pour in a hefty amount of the potion into each phial, before handing them over to Ron who had placed the stopper over each one. He slipped them into his pocket and secured the lid back onto the cauldron.

"Right, we've gotten what we need. Let's go."

Ron placed a hand on her shoulder. "Wait. I want to see something."

She watched as Ron levitated the lid off of another cauldron. Inching closer, she noticed that it contained Felix Felicis. Alarms began going off in her head.

"Do you have any spare phials?" asked Ron.

"No," said Hermione, realising where he was going with this. "And even if I did, we can't take any. It's too risky."

"But come on, Hermione. It's liquid luck! We can use it to help us with our plan."

"Absolutely not. You heard what Slughorn said. If you take too much, it becomes addictive. Besides, we're breaking too many rules as it is."

"Yeah, but it's because we're breaking too many rules that it wouldn't make much of a difference if we nicked some of this."

Hermione sighed deeply. She couldn't think of another way to talk Ron out of his insane idea. Much like her other impulsive best friend, Ron had this stubborn streak that was hard to break.

"Hang on, some of this is missing!" exclaimed Ron. Hermione sidled closer only to realise that he was right. A good portion of Felix Felicis was in fact gone from the cauldron. It definitely wasn't them who took it, which meant that someone else had broken in earlier and stolen it.

"But who would –" She trailed off at the sound of frantic knocking. It was Harry and his weird signal, which if you asked Hermione, sounded nothing like the Macarena.

The door flung open and what must have been Harry came barrelling in. "Someone's coming and it definitely isn't Slughorn!"

Ron was fast to react. He slammed the lid back onto the cauldron containing the Felix Felicis and crouched onto the ground. Hermione felt an invisible hand grab her arm, pulling her towards Ron, before the cloak enveloped them all.

Loud footsteps echoed from outside the office.

"Potter," drawled the familiar silky voice. "I know you're hiding somewhere."

The door to the classroom creaked open and Hermione's heart pounded in her chest. It was Snape. He must have picked up on their absence during dinner. She inwardly cursed. Out of all the people who came looking for them, it just had to be the Professor who hated them the most.

"Weasley, Granger, I know you're here, too."

At the sound of his name, Ron froze. Snape marched into the room. If someone didn't do anything soon, they would undoubtedly get caught. Hermione reached for her wand, but stopped short as she noticed Harry edging for his pocket. She watched in curiosity as he pulled something out, lifted the cloak up until his hand stuck out, and while Snape stared at the other side of the office, Harry deftly chucked it straight at the Professor's greasy head. There was a loud _crack!_ and before she could even blink, Snape was out cold on the floor.

Hermione's jaw dropped as she stared at the item Harry had thrown at Snape.

"D-Did you just knock him out with one of Hagrid's _rock cakes_?" If she wasn't so distracted by the bizarreness of it all, she may have found it funny.

"Sure did. That's what the slimy git gets for giving me detention on the first day of term."

Hermione continued to stare at him, amazed. Ron, on the other hand, found the whole situation hilarious. "First an apple, and now a rock cake, all in one day! Looks like the old bat isn't as invincible as he makes himself out to be."

This really wasn't how Hermione pictured the evening to go. She stared at her professor in concern. "Should we take him to the Hospital Wing? I'm not really sure how long he'll be out for. Hagrid really bakes those things hard, huh?"

Ron snorted. "He claims to bake them with love. What do you think he'd do if he finds out they're better off as weapons than desserts?"

"Let's not find out. As for Snape, let's just leave him here. Someone will find him," suggested Harry, and quietly, the trio tiptoed back to their dorms. All in all, their mission was a success.

* * *

.

Severus awoke with a start. A white figure leaned over him, staring at him in amusement.

"I'm glad to see that you're awake, Severus," said Dumbledore.

Severus's head was pounding and he felt rather groggy. "Where am I?"

"Why, you're in the Hospital Wing, of course. Poppy's just gone out to fetch a potion. She'll be back soon."

Hospital Wing? Why in Merlin's name was he there?

He must have asked this aloud, for Dumbledore answered, "Because you had a concussion. During your prefect patrol, you were hit on the head by a rock."

Severus winced, rubbing his head. "A rock?"

"A rock _cake_ , to be more specific." said Dumbledore, squelching his laughter. Severus shot him a glare.

"It was Potter. It had to have been him. Who else accepts those abomination of biscuits from Hagrid?"

"Did you see Harry before you were attacked?"

"No."

"Then we do not have any evidence to pursue this. It could have been anyone who attacked you."

Severus's frown deepened. Trust Dumbledore to turn a blind eye on his precious little Gryffindors and go around victim-blaming. Just then Madame Pomfrey returned holding a box of potions.

"Here," she said, handing the box to Severus, who lifted a brow.

"What am I supposed to do with all this?"

"Drink them, of course," said Poppy, placing her hands on her hips. "It will help with the concussion and swelling."

Severus counted the number of potions. There were seven in total. Why on earth did he need that many when he had simply gotten a concussion?

Poppy gave him a stern look. "Severus, that rock really hurt your skull. Drinking all those potions will not only relieve you of your headache, it will also stop the swelling and hopefully fix the dent."

"What dent?" His hands lifted straight back onto his head and to the source of the throbbing.

"The dent from the impact of the collision."

Severus heard rather than saw Dumbledore holding back another chuckle. If looks could kill, Dumbledore would have died faster than any damage that cursed hand of his was causing.

"Fine, I'll drink it," he said sulkily.

He looked around the room, and to his dismay, found Seamus Finnigan laying on the hospital bed opposite his, watching the entire exchange with a smirk. Severus growled at him, causing the younger boy to look away. He couldn't have the Gryffindor telling his friends what he saw. It would unravel his entire reputation, one that took years to build. Students didn't cower at his presence for nothing.

Severus drank his potions, one by one, then turned to Dumbledore. "Just so you know, regardless of whether it was Potter, I'll be deducting two-hundred points from Gryffindor for this."

Laughter finally escaped from the old man's lips, much to Severus's annoyance.

* * *

 **A/N - Thanks for all the kind reviews I've received so far! And shoutout to the reviewer who spotted** **that Terry Boot is in fact in Ravenclaw and NOT Hufflepuff. I've now ammended my mistake :)**


	5. Be there or be square!

**Chapter Five**

* * *

"Hey, where were you guys at dinner yesterday?" asked Ginny, taking a seat next to her youngest brother. Ron gave her a nod as he continued shovelling food down his throat, earning an eye roll from Hermione.

"Oh, I was doing some research for my Ancient Runes paper and I asked the boys to help me," she lied quickly and both Harry and Ron nodded their heads accordingly.

"I see," said Ginny, in a tone that suggested she wasn't entirely convinced. She pressed further, not letting the subject drop. "And why exactly did you have to do it during dinner yesterday? You don't have Ancient Runes until tomorrow morning, and seeing as it's Sunday, you would have had all day to do it."

Caught in her lie, Hermione paused, unsure of what to say next. Thankfully, Harry was quick to step in and smooth things over. Years of lying to the Dursley's had given him a certain expertise that the rest of them hadn't quite mastered yet.

"Well, you see, as brilliant as Hermione is, even _she_ isn't perfect. She wrote the paper weeks in advance only to realise during our Quidditch practice yesterday that she had wrote it on the wrong topic!" Harry put his hands on his mouth in a gesture of shock, which if you asked Ron, sold the lie perfectly. It was the little details that really went a long way.

"So, once practice was over, she dragged us to the library where we promised to stay until she finished. That being said, she wasn't done until _after_ dinner, and you know Hermione. She doesn't like leaving things unfinished." Ginny nodded, accepting Harry's story with ease.

"I must have written the wrong homework in my planner," said Hermione, begrudgingly. Ron noticed that her grip on her fork tightened as she ate her eggs. Just the idea of doing the wrong homework seemed to have unnerved her.

"Happens all the time," Ginny said, waving a hand dismissively. She reached for her mug of hot chocolate and asked Harry questions about the upcoming Quidditch match. Ron promptly zoned out, too focused on his food to notice the blaring chemistry between his little sister and best friend, as well as the intense stare off between Hermione and Lavender Brown.

Instead, he looked over to the head table, where he met the watchful eyes of Professor Snape, eyeing him with a scowl. Not just him, Harry and Hermione too. Ron gulped, unsure of what to make of this.

"Is it just me, or does Snape look like he wants to use us potion ingredients?" he asked his friends, unknowingly ending Harry's flirtatious discussion with Ginny and Hermione's unspoken battle with Lavender (which she won, by the way).

Harry, Hermione, and Ginny stole furtive glances at Snape before shuddering and looking away.

"He looks more constipated than usual," observed Harry.

"Did you see his nostrils flaring, or did I just imagine that?" asked Hermione. "I haven't seen that deranged expression on his face since the Padfoot incident in third year."

"Nope, they were definitely flaring," confirmed Ginny, with another shudder. "I think I'm going to have nightmares after this. What on earth did you three do to make him this mad?"

"Exist," said Harry plainly, to which Ron snorted. It wasn't exactly a lie. They may have angered Snape last night with _rock-cake-gate_ , but then again, Snape always looked constipated at the mere sight of Harry alone.

Before they could dwell any further on this, the owls arrived, clutching all sorts of letters and parcels. Hedwig swooped towards them, holding a letter in her beak and a parcel strapped to her leg. She dropped the parcel in Harry's lap and the letter on Ron's plate. Ron fed her a strip of bacon as Harry unwrapped his parcel, containing a brand new copy of _Advanced Potion Making_. Ron was pretty sure he heard Hermione mutter ' _Finally_ ' under her breath.

Next, he opened up his letter, which to his delight was from Fred and George. George's scrawly handwriting read;

 _Dear Ickle Ronniekins,_

 _Business is absolutely booming!_

 _Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes is currently the number one joke shop in all of Britain, can you believe that? The nosebleed nougats are selling out like there's no tomorrow, and the Patented Daydream Charms seem to be a massive hit amongst the ladies (ask Hermione if she's used hers yet, we're dying to know)._

 _And mum never thought we could do it - take that mum!_

 _But enough about us, how are things at Hogwarts? Is Harry still being broody? Hermione still a know-it-all? Ginny still dating what's-his-name? The letter you sent us a few days ago was very vague and certainly made us curious. We'd love to meet you guys on Sunday at the Three Broomsticks, around one o'clock. The lunch time rush is the best time to have a surreptitious meeting, that way no one can eavesdrop._

 _Be there or be square!_

 _\- Fred & George_

 _P.S. Phlegm says hello to Harry_

Ron looked up from his letter with a smirk. After Ginny left with Dean, he let his friends read it.

"Looks like we're meeting Fred and George today."

.

.

The wind was chilly as the trio hurried along the streets. Catching sight of Professor Slughorn, they quickened their pace. After breaking into his office last night, they felt a strange sense of guilt every time they saw the plump professor, to the point where they had to avoid him. There was a reason they weren't Slytherins - their poker faces just weren't good enough. Merlin knew how they would act in his class tomorrow without giving up the game.

The streets were fairly empty and so they made it to the Three Broomsticks with no fuss. Once they entered, Ron looked around for his twin brothers.

"Ron, Harry, Hermione! Over here!"

They turned to see Fred standing up as he beckoned them over to his table, where George was sitting, with five bottles of Butterbeer in front of him. Taking their seats, Ron gratefully took a swig from his bottle, feeling the sugary warmth spread over him.

"So," said George happily, "what can we do for you? It's not every day that our three favourite Gryffindors ask for our assistance, is it Fred?"

"Certainly not, George," replied Fred, leaning back in his chair with his arms behind his head. "You've definitely piqued out interest with that letter of yours. I didn't know you were a man of such mystery, Ronnie."

Ron rolled his eyes, on the verge of saying something that would likely offend his brothers, when Hermione had kicked his leg from under the table and rendered him silent. Harry took this window of opportunity to tell them all about _Operation: How To Catch A Ferret_ (well, the heavily edited version, of course).

"And that's why we need your help to distract Pansy and get a sample of her hair."

George held up a hand. "Wait," he said, "let me get this straight. You want Hermione to disguise herself as Pansy Parkinson, get her in trouble and land her detention, _all_ because she was a part of the inquisitorial squad last year?"

 _Huh_ , Ron thought. When they said it aloud, it really did sound dumb. Maybe they should have thought of a better excuse. Much to his shock, George simply chuckled at this. "I think that's a marvellous idea! Very unique. _10/10_ for the creativity."

Fred joined in. "I love it! Please tell me you've got plans for the other members of the slimy Slytherin squad too. They made everyone's lives hell last year."

"Of course we do," said Harry. "We plan on doing the same thing to Crabbe and Goyle. As for Malfoy, we have much _bigger_ plans for him."

"Ooo, fascinating."

"All this plotting against the Slytherins is suddenly making me miss Hogwarts. Like that one time I hit a bludger right at Flint's face. Ah, good times."

Before they could go further off track, Hermione decided it was a good time as any to add her input.

"Back to business, we need your help creating a distraction," she said, absently drumming her fingers on the table as she spoke. "Something that can keep Pansy away while I impersonate her. There has to be something in that shop of yours that can help".

Fred considered this for a moment, the corners of his mouth turning upwards in amusement. "Oh, there us. Remember that bottle of Patented Daydream Charms that i gave you?"

Hermione nodded slowly, her cheeks reddening slightly.

"Well, just get the House Elves to spike her evening goblet with it and she'd be preoccupied for an hour, if you know what I mean," he finished with a wink.

Ron thought this was a marvellous idea. Dobby would do anything Harry asked, but judging from the look on Hermione's face, she believed otherwise.

"Honestly, you two," she said, rolling her eyes at the twins. "If you weren't so resourceful, you'd be the last people I'd ask for help. We simply can't ask the House Elves to do that! It's bad enough they're not getting paid – or treated fairly – and now you expect us to rope them into all this!"

"Here we go again," muttered Harry, under his breath. He, like Ron, must have been thinking about S.P.E.W and Hermione's unwavering persistence to 'free' the house-elves (none of whom actually wanted said freedom). It seemed Dobby, however, was the mere exception, continually cheering Hermione on and encouraging her to continue the outlandish movement.

"Did you hear that, George?" asked Fred, cupping his ears dramatically.

"Sure did, Fred. Hermione just called _us_ resourceful," answered George, in mock awe. "We did it! We finally got her approval."

Groaning in annoyance, Hermione put her face in her hands. Ron leaned over and patted her head soothingly. Her hair was so soft, which surprised him. It always looked like a bird's nest that he thought it would be as rough as one. He thought back to the night of their Yule Ball in fourth year and recalled how silky her hair looked. Though they weren't exactly talking that night, Ron had been tempted to run his hands through her hair, but constantly refrained from doing so. Maybe if they had another party of sorts, he would finally man up and ask her to be his date. He smiled at the thought.

"Alright, we're just messing with you, Hermione. We really do have another idea," said George, pulling Ron out of his musings. "Though if this fails, you can always use the Patented Daydream Charm as a fail-safe measure."

Ron really was starting to wonder what their obsession with that potion was.

"Enlighten us," said Harry, playing with his bottle of Butterbeer. "We want to strike as soon as possible."

"Well..." began Fred.

.

.

After a very interesting exchange of ideas, the conversation eventually turned into a catch-up session.

"And good ol' Fleur's been driving mum crazy – oh hey, Dung!" Fred waved at Mundungus Fletcher, a bandy-legged man with long straggly ginger hair.

"Oh, 'ello, children," he said, trying to sound haughty but failing miserably. Ron noticed he was carrying an ancient suitcase with him, which looked as if it was going to bulge open at any moment.

Mundungus claimed the empty seat next to Harry, who appeared nauseous by the close proximity. It must have been the stench. Mundungus _always_ stank.

"Fancy buyin' one of me products?" he asked, opening his suitcase. "There's plenty to go 'round."

"No, thank you," answered Hermione, as politely as possible. Harry nodded fervently in agreement. Fred and George, however, sneaked a peek into the suitcase, analysing the contents with interest.

"What's on offer, Dung?" asked George.

Mundungus smiled, showcasing every bit of crooked teeth that would have made Hermione's parents disgusted. Judging by her own frown, she was just as disgusted. He opened the suitcase and pulled out an assortment of grubby-looking objects.

"I got all sorts," he said, looking rather proud of himself for collecting a heap of junk. He promptly showed them a broken necklace, a set of fine china (which Ron had no idea how he got his grubby hands on) and a set of mirrors. He noticed Harry eye the mirrors in interest, recognition flashing in his eyes.

Mundungus also seemed to notice Harry's curious gaze. "It's a set of three-way callin' mirrors," he explained. "If you gotta communicate with someone when you're not together, it'll let ya."

 _So that's why it looks familiar_ , Ron realised. Sirius had given Harry a similar set last Christmas, to communicate with one another while they were at Hogwarts. Harry looked as if he had just swallowed a niffler.

"H-How much?" Harry asked, pointing to the mirrors.

Mundungus flashed a toothy grin. "A galleon. Per mirror."

 _Crafty man_. It certainly wasn't worth that much.

Nevertheless, Harry was determined. He pulled three galleons out of his pocket and set it in front of Mundungus.

"I'll take the lot."

* * *

.

To say Draco was confused was an understatement.

He was down-right flabbergasted, unsure what to make of anything.

Professor Snape had instructed the class to divide into pairs in order to work on their non-verbal spellcasting, and before he knew it, Pansy, Crabbe and Goyle had all been taken.

Now normally, Draco didn't consider himself to be a possessive person, he allowed his friends to have other friends and allowed Pansy to talk to other guys (as long as it was _just_ talking), but this didn't fit into either criteria. He continued to gaze in utter astonishment at the scene in front of him.

No, this was a total anomaly.

"Come on, Pansy. Lighten up. You work on your shielding while I attempt a non-verbal jinx," Hermione Granger, of all people, told Pansy with an overly-sweet smile. Pansy, like her boyfriend, was speechless. Granger must have interpreted her silence as shyness and steered Pansy into a quiet corner, away from all the speculating eyes in the room.

Draco's gaze landed onto Potter, who had a arm draped across Goyle, chattering away as if they were lifelong best friends. "Don't worry, buddy. It's not as hard as it looks. You'll get the hang of it soon!"

Goyle, like the dumb buffoon he was, nodded at every word Potter said. Draco felt like he was going to be sick. _What in Merlin's name was going on?_ Finally, his eyes roamed over to where Weasley was situated, in a dueling stance against Crabbe.

 _At least they look like the sworn enemies they are_ , Draco thought. But alas, before he could even blink, Weasley gave Crabbe a high-five that the oaf sloppily returned. "Not bad, Crabbe. Not bad at all. There's definitely room for improvement, but don't worry, we'll get there."

"What the actual hell?" asked Blaise, standing beside him. He too wore an expression of pure bewilderment.

"I honestly have no idea," said Draco with a frown.

Just then, Professor Snape, who was walking around the room spectating everyone's performance, came marching over to them.

"Mr Zabini, Mr Malfoy, I do believe I've asked you to get on with the task," he said, colder than usual.

"But Professor," said Blaise, pointing at Potter and his friends. "Look!"

Snape's eyes followed in the direction Blaise's finger landed. "What am I looking at?"

"Potter and his friends," replied Draco. "They're up to something, Sir. I know it."

Snape didn't respond. Instead, he frowned, as if he too came to that very conclusion. His words, however, contradicted his expression. "I don't see anything the matter with it. I've instructed everyone to pair up and so they have. Now get on with the task at hand or I'll be forced to take points from Slytherin," he said, clenching his jaw as if he were forcing the words to come out his mouth. He stormed off before Draco could say much else.

"Come on, man. Let's just get this over with," said Blaise, getting his wand ready as he got into the proper stance.

Draco was too distracted to focus on the task, but relented nonetheless. Blaise was quick to fire a non-verbal impediment jinx at him, but Draco was busy analysing Potter's movements to block it with a shield. As a result, his movements became slower and it felt as if his brain was too quick for his body. Within ten seconds, the jinx wore off and Draco's body finally caught up to his mind and he fell to the ground.

After a trying lesson where Draco's lack of focus continued to backfire on him, class was finally dismissed. Walking past Potter and his friends, he was almost out of the door when he heard Granger say, "I've managed to get it. What about you guys?"

"Yeah,

I have too."

He heard Potter and Weasley chorus before sauntering out of the room. Draco's eyebrows furrowed, wondering what they were talking about. He suspected it had something to do with his friends and girlfriend, why else would the annoying trio partner up with them?

Pulling his bag from the floor and slinging it over his shoulder, he decided it was time to do some digging of his own. Right after he finished fixing the Vanishing Cabinet, that is.

.


End file.
